


Say Something

by LinksLipsSinkShips



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Choose Your Own Ending, Coma, M/M, Pining, Please note tags at the beginning of each chapter, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-22
Packaged: 2019-11-15 01:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LinksLipsSinkShips/pseuds/LinksLipsSinkShips
Summary: When a work situation goes wrong and Hank ends up in a coma, Connor is struggling with the things he left unsaid.





	1. Say Something

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magicbubblepipe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magicbubblepipe/gifts).



> _Say something, I'm giving up on you  
>  I'll be the one, if you want me to  
> Anywhere, I would've followed you  
> Say something, I'm giving up on you  
> And I am feeling so small  
> It was over my head  
> I know nothing at all  
> And I will stumble and fall  
> I'm still learning to love  
> Just starting to crawl  
> Say something, I'm giving up on you_
> 
> -Say Something, A Great Big World

The subtle beep… beep… beep… of the heart monitor was the only thing stopping Connor from pulling the thirium pump right out of his chest. It would have been the most logical thing to do, he thought. He couldn’t go on without Hank, and if that beeping stopped, he refused to. With all the words unsaid, going on wasn’t an option. Not when he felt these… these _feelings_.

Instead he sat there, quiet and still next to Hank’s bed. Part of him considered Hank’s gun the day before when he’d gone home to feed Sumo and take him for a walk. Markus had promised to look in on Sumo this time, but the day before Connor was there alone, just him, just Sumo. It was tempting. It would have been so, so easy. Pull the trigger, no more Connor. Now that he was deviant, they weren’t exactly going to replace him like they would have before.

But Connor couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He even loaded the gun and… he couldn’t. It didn’t matter how statistically improbable it was that Hank would ever wake up. As long as the heart monitor still beeped, as long as the chance of survival was above 0%, Connor had to stay alive.

Part of it was the guilt weighing on him, the realization that it was his fault Hank was there to begin with. For some reason, despite all of Connor’s insistence, Hank always tried to enter rooms first. He tried to put his body, full of flesh and blood — red and thick and sticky — between Connor and the danger ahead. Connor let him. Every time he let him and now Hank was paying the price, unmoving in a hospital bed.

Connor hated himself for it. That was a new feeling. Hatred. He didn’t hate anyone else, not even the person who did this to Hank, the way he hated himself for not being between Hank and danger. The reality was Connor was in love with Hank. Hopelessly, he was. It should have been easy for Connor, fast-thinking, pragmatic Connor. He should have been able to look at Hank and say “I like you,” and let Hank respond to that however he might.

But there was another feeling holding Connor back. Fear. Fear was the feeling that held him back. Not fear in the way he’d felt it before, like the fear he’d felt when he’d felt another android die. It wasn’t that kind of fear. This was the kind of fear that bundled in his wiring inside of him and made him feel like the wires were tangling in ways he knew they couldn’t be. It was the kind of fear that made the words catch in his speaker. It was the kind of fear that made his fans whirr and his LED spin yellow until he couldn’t say them. He couldn’t say them.

And now it was probably too late. With every hour and every day that Hank lay in that bed, it was less likely that he’d wake up. If he did, it was statistically likely he would wake with brain damage, and that meant he might not even be the same Hank.

Still, for as much as Connor knew he couldn’t exist in a world without Hank in it, for as much as he knew that if Hank died, he would too, he couldn’t leave it until he knew for sure. He wondered what would happen if he did do something — pull the trigger, yank the thirium pump — and Hank woke eventually to find out he was gone. If the feelings weren’t reciprocated, Connor figured that he’d just move on.

But Hank had been negatively impacted by his death before, even if he had come back each time. Him dying would not be good for Hank, if only because the man had been through enough loss to not have to lose Connor too, even if Connor meant nothing to him, if he was a roommate, a partner at work and nothing more.

Connor didn’t want to compromise their relationship, and anything above 0% meant that he might. Even if it was statistically improbable, he reminded himself. The last thing that would be helpful was getting his hopes up in a situation like this. Hank probably wasn’t coming back, and Connor would deal with that when the heart monitor reduced itself to a single, high-pitched squeal.

He thought through that a lot, too, how if Hank’s heart stopped, he’d rip his own heart-like pump from his body, curl up next to Hank, wait to go. He wondered if that was wrong of him, to want to go out beside Hank, still feeling the warmth of his body until he faded out. Hank wouldn’t be there to notice, of course. He’d be wherever humans went after death, if they went anywhere. Connor simply didn’t want to be disrespectful.

But Connor didn’t like thinking about that. It was hard to think about the only person who mattered to him in the world suddenly not being there. He imagined that was a lot of what Hank felt when Cole died, but that was a different situation entirely. Though, he understood Hanks desire to hate androids after. He hated the android responsible for hurting Hank, and it was hard not to feel like they were all at fault there.

Mostly, though, he wanted Hank to be okay. Against all odds he wanted Hank to wake up. He folded his hands in his lap, sitting there. For a while, he flicked his coin back and forth, doing his tests to keep himself functioning optimally. He didn’t know why he did it, because in a way, he was hoping his body would break down the way Hank’s was, but part of him secretly wished Hank would snap out of his coma, wake up, snatch the coin from his hand, tell him he was pissing him off with that coin.

He didn’t. His eyes stayed closed and his body stayed still. Machines breathed for him, machines kept his heart beating, or that’s what all of the doctors were telling him. That should have been a source of some comfort for Connor — machines powered him too — but it mostly made him horrified. Hank wasn’t coming back, as far as Connor could tell.

No matter how many times he flicked his coin back and forth, no matter how many times he held Hank’s hand, he was met with silence, with a complete lack of motion or response. It was as if Hank didn’t even know he was there. Hank probably would have told Connor to stop trying to hold his hand if he were awake, but Connor couldn’t help it. He needed to feel Hank’s warmth.

“Are you going home?” one of the nurses asked Connor. He’d only left Hank’s side to take care of Sumo, and now that Markus was handling that for him, he wasn’t going home for that either. Instead, he curled up in the chair beside Hank’s bed and closed his eyes anytime he needed to rest and recharge. He wasn’t leaving in case Hank moved.

“No. I’m staying,” he told her.

“Okay. Suit yourself. See you tomorrow, Connor.” To them, he may as well have been a human, may as well have been Hank’s partner, son, sibling — whatever. “Lights on or off?”

“You can turn them off,” Connor told her. He didn’t need them on anyway. It wouldn’t make a difference.

The hospital floor was quiet after that. Hank, in a private room, the nurses staying at their station between checks to keep from disturbing patients at all, was undisturbed. Connor sat. Then Connor paced. Pacing wasn’t even a natural tic for him, not something he was programmed to do, but for some reason he felt the need to do _something_.

But then something in him snapped. “Say something,” Connor said, turning toward Hank. “Say something. Say something. Anything, goddammit, Hank, say something.” He got closer to Hank, tapping his cheek. “Hank, please. Please, please, please, _pleasepleaseplease_ , Hank,” he begged. Even if he knew he shouldn’t, he pulled his hand back, slapping Hank like he’d done the time Hank had been passed out on the kitchen floor from alcohol. “Say something!” he shouted, pleading. He regretted slapping him instantly, tucking his hand behind his back and feeling tears fall from his eyes. He wasn’t much of one to cry but he couldn’t do this. He couldn’t continue on the way he had been.

“Say something,” he pleaded, collapsing onto Hank and touching his face where he’d slapped him, running his fingers along Hank’s cheek. “Please,” he said. He held Hank closely, body shaking with sobs if only because all of his processors and fans couldn’t handle the fact that he was crying like that.

“Hank,” he said, sliding his hand into Hank’s hand. “You have to wake up. Sumo needs you. I—” he paused, considering his next word carefully “—I need you. Please wake up. Please tell me that it’s all my fault that I didn’t protect you. Please tell me to go away and tell me what a useless hunk of plastic and metal I am,” Connor pleaded.

Hank didn’t move.

“Please. The statistical likelihood of you coming back to me is so small. I can’t go on like this. I… I don’t want to continue if you aren’t with me, Lieutenant. Partners, right?” Connor knew he was speaking to the void, to nothingness, to Hank’s complete lack of consciousness. Even if his processors told him this was futile, he couldn’t help it. “You don’t know how many times I have put your gun to my chin. You don’t know how many times I have considered pulling the thirium pump out of my chest.”

Hank still didn’t move.

“Tomorrow, Hank. I will continue my hope that you will wake up, even if my logic and my systems tell me that it is pointless. But after tomorrow, I have to look at things logically again. If you aren’t going to come back, then I will ask Markus to take care of Sumo and take him to Jericho. I will say goodbye. And I will go. I— I love you too much to continue on without additional chance of your survival.”

Connor’s tears streamed down his cheeks and onto Hank. He started to pull back, to give Hank space, until he felt the squeeze of Hank’s fingers on his hands, heard the soft beep… beep… beep… shift to beep… beep… _beepbeep…_ in a way that told him something was different, in a way that made him feel that Hank had heard him.

“Don’t leave me,” Connor begged, placing his fingers on his chest, considering pulling his pump out immediately. He couldn’t hurt like this, not when every emotion was still too strong as it was.

The second squeeze from Hank’s hand was enough.

Connor was new to feeling emotions for himself, but there was one emotion that he suddenly knew was the most important feeling of all.

_Hope._

 

 

**_If you’re satisfied with this ending, stop here._ **

**_If Hank wakes up,[skip to chapter 2](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235/chapters/43062644#workskin)_**

**_If Hank doesn’t wake up,[skip to chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235/chapters/43062665#workskin)_**


	2. Hank Wakes Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank wakes up from his coma.
> 
> No additional tags apply.

Days on end from the time Connor felt Hank squeeze his hand, his hope was unwavering. Connor probably couldn’t have held onto hope much longer, but that squeeze said something, said Hank was alive in there somewhere, even if he still didn’t wake up. He hadn’t squeezed Connor’s hand again, but that didn’t matter. As long as he’d done it once, Connor had hope. Most of the time, he stood by the bed and kept his hand in Hank’s in case Hank did it again. The perk of being an android is that his legs never tired of standing there.

Sometimes his heart did, though, and for that reason, he sat in the chair, curling his knees up to his chest. He rested his chin on his knees, watching, scanning, looking for the most subtle movement as Hank’s chest rose and fell. Watching was hard, watching and waiting, keeping hope. Connor was giving Hank one week. If Hank didn’t show statistical signs of improvement, if he didn’t show movement beyond machines, then Connor would be back where he was.

But it had only been four days.

Connor reminded himself of that. It had only been four days. Four days. Four days. He kept telling himself to wait.

His eyes slipped closed. He wasn’t asleep — androids didn’t really sleep — but he was quiet, still, in his mind palace. For that few minutes, he didn’t have to consider the fact that Hank might not wake up, even if he’d squeezed his hand. Sometimes that happened. Nervous systems could do things like that, could make a hand move and twitch without it _meaning_ anything. For all Connor knew, it was simply a part of his body breaking down and not a sign of life at all.

“Con?”

Connor, still inside of his mind palace, liked to imagine he could hear Hank’s voice calling to him, liked to pretend that he’d woken up.

“Con?”

He could replay recordings of Hank talking to him, but he liked it most when it was spontaneous, Hank’s voice lilting into his mind.

“Goddammit, what’s the point of havin’ a fuckin’ android if—”

Connor opened his eyes. Hank’s lips were moving but the rest of him was still. “Hank?”

“Water,” Hank breathed the word quietly.

“You need—?”

“ _Water,”_ Hank got more insistent.

Connor scrambled to his feet, torn between collapsing himself onto Hank, hugging him, telling him how desperately he missed him, how much Hank had scared him, made him almost give up hope, how happy he was that Hank was alive … and doing what Hank asked. Hank’s needs won out.

Reaching for the call button, Connor pushed it — one, two, _three_ times rapid-fire — but that felt like it was taking too long. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Hank, but Hank needed water and Connor needed him. He pushed through the door of Hank’s hospital room, rushing into the hall and nearly knocking over the nurse trying to answer his call.

“He’s awake,” Connor said, sounding breathless from the way his fans whirred excitedly. “He needs water.” Connor turned away from her, seeking the nearest hydration station with cups. Android precision didn’t matter when he was feeling so intensely about Hank waking. Trying to grab one cup meant four scattering to the ground, and as Connor tried to pick them up with one hand while filling the cup with the other, it overflowed. “ _Shit,”_ he cursed to himself. Figuring it out, he placed the other cups back, then grabbed a straw and composed himself enough to hasten back to Hank’s room without spilling another drop.

“Here,” he said, shoving past the nurse next to Hank, holding the cup near him, watching Hank struggle to sit.

“He’s going to be weak until—” the nurse started, but Connor was on it, shifting the cup to his other hand and using his free one to cup Hank’s head, lifting him until his lips reached the straw. As he took a drink, his eyes flitted up to Connor.

“We’re going to have to spend some more time observing him,” the nurse said. “I want to warn you consciousness could be temporary. There’s no way I can guarantee—” Connor was tuning her out, half-listening. He could figure out what she’d said later. Right now, all that mattered was Hank was alive, awake, had spoken to him. “I’ll leave you two alone for a few minutes, then,” the nurse said, sighing and backing out of the room.

“You’re awake,” Connor said, stating the obvious.

“Guess so,” Hank said, pulling at Connor’s arm to tug the drink closer.

“When you squeezed my hand, I had … hope that you would wake up and recover. But it’s been four days,” Connor admitted. He didn’t want to tell Hank that he was near giving up. “I felt … I felt afraid.”

“You felt—” Hank let out a soft exhale, giving a small nod and patting Connor’s hand.

Connor needed Hank to wake up, needed him to wake up so he could tell him how he felt. Part of him felt like now was the wrong time to confess, to own up to the feelings he had for his partner. “Lieutenant Anderson, I’ve been in love with you since I first deviated, you’re _why_ I found emotions,” seemed a bit intense for the moment. Hank had just woken up. He’d been out for so long and he was awake and Connor didn’t think piling on such emotional things would help. Besides, now Hank had his eyes closed again. The only thing that helped Connor was the fact that he let out a soft snore. _Asleep, not back under._ Connor could tell him later.

When Hank woke up again, he was more alert, and after another cup of water, he seemed ready to talk. He struggled forward for the button to raise his head, to sit him up more, but Connor took care of it for him, lifting him partway between lying down and sitting up. “Is that more comfortable for you?”

“It’s good, Connor,” Hank said. “You did good. So,” he said, patting the bed beside him until Connor sat on it, “what’d I miss?”

Connor almost spilled everything right then. Instead, he held off. “Not much has happened of significance since you’ve been in a coma. A few deputies and the captain came to visit you, but you weren’t awake to greet them. They brought flowers, but as they died, I disposed of them. I’m sorry you missed them.”

“It’s fine, Connor. Do I look like much of a flower guy anyway?” he waved a hand dismissively.

“No,” Connor answered. His LED spun yellow as he processed through what Hank would find most important. “Sumo is doing well. Markus has been feeding him so I could stay at the hospital.” For a moment, Connor feared he’d said too much. He could have gone home to feed Sumo himself, since staying seemed so … so intimate. “And The Gears won their playoff game.” Connor hoped the focus on sports would prevent Hank from realizing that Connor had insisted on staying for every possible second he could.

“That’s good. You’ll have to give me the highlights som—” Connor started in on the highlights of the game, and Hank sighed, shaking his head. “Sometime, Connor. Not _now!_ What have you been doing while I’ve been asleep? You’ve told me about everybody else. The Gears, the department, Sumo, hell, even Markus. Haven’t said a single word about what you’ve been up to.”

“I’ve been waiting,” Connor said.

“Waiting?”

“For you to wake up,” Connor explained. “I’ve been here.”

“Huh,” Hank said, letting out a small nod. “I need some more water.”

Connor nodded and stood. He’d get Hank more water. And someday, he’d find the time to tell him how he felt. Hopefully, anyway.

 

 

**_If you’re satisfied with this ending, stop here._ **

**_If Connor tells Hank how he feels,[skip to chapter 4](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235/chapters/43062716#workskin)_**

**_If Connor doesn’t tell Hank how he feels,[skip to chapter 5](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235/chapters/43062737#workskin)_**


	3. Hank Doesn't Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank doesn't wake up from his coma.
> 
> tw: suicide, major character death

Connor had been waiting. Ever since Hank squeezed his hand, he’d been waiting. One day became two, two became four, four became seven. A full week after Hank had squeezed his hand, he’d started to give up hope once more. The hope of a hand squeeze could only sustain Connor for so long. It hurt thinking about the possibility that Hank could be _gone._ It hurt thinking about the idea of life without him.

Connor thought through his options. If Hank was gone, there was no reason to keep him plugged into machines that sustained him without reviving him. The only reason the nurses had kept him on this long was at Connor’s insistence that there was a statistical chance he could wake up. The longer it took, the less likely that was. All Connor had to do was tell them that he was done and they’d unplug him.

If that happened, if Hank didn’t wake up, Connor couldn’t imagine continuing. Sure, he had Sumo, but Markus could take care of him just fine. Everyone at Jericho seemed to love Sumo anyway. It wasn’t as if Sumo needed Connor in the same way Connor needed Sumo. Hank, on the other hand …

One more week. Connor promised himself he’d wait one more week. When that week passed, he promised another, and after a month from the last time Hank had given any sign of movement, it was pretty clear to Connor: Hank was never coming back. Still, somehow Connor couldn’t make that decision. He couldn’t let the nurses unplug him. No matter how low the statistics were, Connor held out _hope._

Most of the time, he stood beside Hank’s bed, fingers in Hank’s hand, waiting for Hank to give one more squeeze. The perk of being an android was that his legs didn’t get tired, not like human legs. But Connor’s wait grew so long. He sat down in the chair, curling his knees to his chest, resting his head on his legs. In his mind palace, he could hold out hope Hank was still alive.

“Con,” he heard, but he brushed it off. It was a memory, a replaying of the million times Hank had spoken to him before the accident.

“Con,” he heard again, and this time he jolted his eyes open. He couldn’t shake the feeling Hank was trying to talk to him, but with his eyes open, Hank laid there, still not moving. Connor stood up, walked over to him, took his hand.

“Please, Hank. I— I love you.” Connor waited. _Nothing._

After several long minutes of silence, of the soft _beep, beep, beep_ of the machines measuring Hank’s heart rate, Connor sighed softly, his fans making a quiet whir. _Beep. Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeeeeeee_ —

Even with the sudden flurry of people around Hank, the flurry of bodies that entered the room, the buzzes and jolts trying to get him back, Connor knew. Connor knew he was gone and he wasn’t coming back. Tears welled in his eyes and streamed down his face. Crying was so new, and Connor knew he wouldn’t experience it many more times. Not with Hank gone. Not like this. Part of him figured he’d go home, tell Sumo goodbye, tell Markus, take care of things on his own.

But that required leaving Hank. He couldn’t bring himself to do that.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, putting her hand on Connor’s shoulder. Of all of the doctors and nurses in the room, she was the only one to even acknowledge him.

“When will they come to take him?” Connor asked her.

“In a few minutes,” she said. “They’ll take him and do an autopsy. Then you’ll be able to figure out the burial, or contact his family.” Connor was his only family. Connor and Sumo. There was no one to contact, not really. Hank had left instructions, an end-of-life plan noting he should be buried next to Cole. Connor had found it one day before all of this had happened. Someone else would find it too.

“Thank you,” Connor said. As she walked away, he closed the door behind her. A few minutes.

“Hank,” Connor said, knowing he’d never get an answer. Even as he held Hank’s hand, there was no hope for a squeeze this time. There was no hope Hank would ever return to him. In a few minutes, Hank would get colder. Connor nudged him aside, settled into the place beside Hank, and tugged Hank’s arm around him. “I wish I had told you.” Wishes. Wishes were silly things for androids to have. Wishes were so pointless, Connor realized. Wishes wouldn’t bring Hank back. Still, he wished. Hank didn’t move.

He curled in closer, rested his head against Hank’s chest, then moved up enough to kiss him softly. He laid back down and pulled Hank’s arm around him closer, tighter.

Then, he placed his hand against his chest, curling his fingers around his thirium pump. It wasn’t hard to dislodge it. The pump came out easily, as thirium spilled onto the bed, onto Hank. Connor closed his eyes, feeling Hank’s arm around him, and waited. In a moment, he’d shut down. Even though Hank would never wake up, Connor imagined. Eyes closed, he pictured it. Hank, holding him close. Hank, telling him “I love you, too.” He smiled softly and clung to the things he imagined. Then … nothing.

 

 

**_If you’re satisfied with this ending… stop here._ **

**_For something sad,[go to chapter 6](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235/chapters/43062758#workskin)_**

**_For something happier,[go to chapter 7](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18064235/chapters/43062788#workskin)_**


	4. Connor Tells Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor tells Hank how he feels.
> 
> No additional warnings or tags.

Hank had been awake for two days before Connor summoned the courage to even hint at how he felt. Part of him wished Hank had actually heard him say it while he was in a coma. A lot of medical studies suggested that patients heard things that loved ones said to them while they were in that place.

That would have required Connor being one of Hank’s loved ones, though, and Connor was less sure about that. Still, after everything they’d been through, Connor had only maintained two regrets:

One, he’d let Hank put his big, fleshy body between Connor and danger, had let his processing get interrupted with his feelings, and hadn’t been able to stop Hank from getting hurt.

Two, he hadn’t told Hank he loved him.

Statistically speaking, Hank was probably safe enough for Connor to tell him later, but there were always statistical anomalies that Connor couldn’t account for. Even if, statistically speaking, Hank was likely to live several more decades, provided Connor could convince him to slow down on eating burgers and increase his vegetable intake, there was a small chance that Hank could walk outside and be hit by a self-driving bus that didn’t recognize him as a police officer. Connor didn’t like the idea that something could happen he hadn’t accounted for. Not if he still hadn’t told Hank.

He watched and waited, bringing Hank water, fetching him food, doing anything Hank asked him, saying “Be a good little android and …” with a smirk on his face that told Connor Hank was mostly joking with the snarky address.

“Yes, Hank,” he’d answer obediently. Even if Hank was joking in the way he addressed him, Connor wanted to make him happy, wanted to get him what he needed. And now, as he sat and watched Hank lift the burger to his lips, finally cleared to eat after two days of a mostly-liquid diet, Connor looked at him.

“What?” Hank snapped.

“Nothing,” Connor said.

“Jesus, Connor, I’m tryin’ to eat here. Do you have to stare at me?”

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor said, diverting his eyes.

“Oh God, what is it?” Hank asked, putting his burger down and rolling his eyes, settling in his chair. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“We can discuss it after you eat your burger,” Connor said, nodding at the food on the tray. “I’d hate for it to get cold.” Connor was stalling.

“No. Tell me. What’s got you staring at me like that?”

“It’s just that,” Connor paused, LED spinning, “when you got injured, I realized I had some … some regrets.”

“Yeah?” Hank asked.

“I regretted the fact that I wasn’t able to stop you from being injured,” Connor started.

“Con, it’s not your fault. It happens. I’m the one who—”

“I’m not finished, Lieutenant.” Connor slipped into his old address for Hank there, furrowing his brow. “I also regretted not telling you about my feelings.”

“Oh yeah, now you have feelings and you feel like you have to tell everyone what you’re feeling, is that it?” Hank asked him, pulling a piece of lettuce off of his burger and eating it. Connor could tell he was anxious to get back to it.

“No, not always,” Connor said. “I thought this feeling would be of particular interest because it involves you.”

For once, Hank didn’t have a smart remark to answer him with. Instead, he stayed silent.

“Hank,” Connor said, looking at him earnestly, “I love you.”

“Oh, Con,” Hank said. Connor braced himself for the part where Hank would let him down, perhaps ask him to move out when he was able to return home,  _ something _ . “I love you too. Now can we stop the sappy shit so I can eat? I’m starvin’ here.” Hank gave him a wide, toothy grin. Connor understood. Sometimes androids were simply better at sharing their feelings than humans were. It didn’t mean it wasn’t reciprocated completely.

 

_**The end.** _


	5. Connor Doesn't Tell Hank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor doesn't tell Hank how he feels.
> 
> No additional tags apply.

Connor knew that he  _ should  _ say something to Hank. It was the important thing for him to do. After everything they’d been through, Connor had only maintained two regrets:

One, he’d let Hank put his big, fleshy body between Connor and danger, had let his processing get interrupted with his feelings, and hadn’t been able to stop Hank from getting hurt.

Two, he hadn’t told Hank he loved him.

But telling him was easier said than done. It was one thing to think “If Hank wakes up, I’ll let him know how I feel,” and quite another to say the words, to open his mouth and say “Hank, I love you.” That seemed impossible.

So he didn’t. He watched and waited, updating Hank on things he’d missed. He’d filled him in on the latest scores of The Gears’ games, told Hank how Markus was watching Sumo, and explained recent news updates, which Hank mostly brushed off and ignored.

It took a while for Hank to regain his strength, for him to get to go home. After being in a coma, it takes a while for a brain to get back to where it needs to go, and Hank’s took a week and a half from the time he woke up fully. Connor meant to tell Hank before he left the hospital, just in case. Statistically speaking, Hank was probably safe enough for Connor to tell him later, but there were always statistical anomalies that Connor couldn’t account for. Even if, statistically speaking, Hank was likely to live several more decades, provided Connor could convince him to slow down on eating burgers and increase his vegetable intake, there was a small chance that Hank could walk outside and be hit by a self-driving bus that didn’t recognize him as a police officer. Connor didn’t like the idea that something could happen he hadn’t accounted for. Not if he still hadn’t told Hank.

But he still couldn’t. What if Hank shut him down? What if Hank told him to move out, despite the fact that he still needed Connor’s care in his recovery? He couldn’t risk it. And now, he was out of time to tell him before.

“Be a good little android and fetch my coat,” Hank asked, waving his hand toward the chair his coat was draped over. Connor nodded and did as he was asked, opening his mouth to speak.

“Hank,”

“Yeah?” Hank asked gruffly.

Connor paused for a second, started to open his mouth and say it. Hank cocked his head to one side, waiting. Instead, Connor’s fans whirred and made a sound like an exhale. “Let me help you with that.” He couldn’t do it.

One week home and Connor had focused on making sure Hank settled back into his routine.

Two weeks, and he had Hank on a diet that was suitable for brain recovery.

Three weeks, and he was certain he’d never say it. Maybe his presence was enough for Hank to know how he felt without saying it in as many words.

On the fourth week, Hank was stir crazy, and Connor drove him to the Ambassador Bridge. Hank was almost ready to go back to work and Connor knew it. That much scared him. If Hank went back to work, he could get hurt again. If Hank went back to work and got hurt without Connor telling him—

Connor didn’t like to think about that.

As they sat on a bench near the bridge, Connor turned and studied Hank’s face. “What’re you lookin’ at?” Hank asked him.

“Nothing, I—” Connor didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t know what else to say.

“Well if you’re not going to talk, I will,” Hank said. He wasn’t a man of many words and he usually waited for Connor to initiate conversations with him. This time, though, he was talking. “Con, I don’t know how I would have gotten through these past few weeks without you.”

“Without me, you wouldn’t have been in harm’s way,” Connor said.

“Would you shut up and let me finish?” Hank asked. Connor didn’t say a word and Hank let out a soft hum of approval. “What I’m saying is, I’m glad you were around for me. Glad you were there to help. I know I haven’t always been all that nice or whatever, but … you know.” Hank looked away from Connor. “Anyway, if you’re wondering about it, yeah, I heard you. When I was out cold, I mean. I heard you.”

Connor wondered what he meant, how much he heard, if he’d heard  _ that _ .

“I love you too, Con.” Hank reached over and took Connor’s hand, gave it a small squeeze, and let go. “You about ready to go home?”

“Yes, Hank. Let’s go home.”

 

_**The end.** _


	6. The Saddest Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the saddest ending.
> 
> tw: suicide, major character death

Hank felt something dripping on his side. He couldn’t be sure what it was, or how he’d gotten there. Hospital. Hospital, that made sense, he thought, eyes opening. The dripping, though. He looked down, trying to move, trying to … anything. Connor was curled next to him, warm and close, and that made him smile. He loved Connor so much, and despite all of his hesitance toward telling Connor as much, as soon as he woke up fully, as soon as he got himself the fuck out of here, he was going to tell him.

Until his eyes trailed lower, looked at his side. Thirium, bright blue, dripping from the hole in Connor’s chest and spreading onto Hank’s hospital gown. “Oh no, Connor,” Hank choked out. Connor was the love of his life, the person who made it worth living. Now, he was dead in Hank’s arms, at Hank’s side. At that, there was really no point in waking up, in  _ staying  _ alive. He’d clawed his way out of a coma for the only thing that mattered in his life to be torn from him. He wasn’t going on without Connor.

He couldn’t.

If he’d had his gun, it would have been quick, would have been  _ easy,  _ but he didn’t. He had a dead android, hospital machinery, a gown … nothing useful. Turning, he saw scissors on the side table, probably left by a nurse attending to his dressings. Hank bent his head down, kissed Connor’s lips softly. Thirium on his hand moved to Connor’s face, to his own lips, the blue lingering reminder of Connor’s death becoming too much for him to bear. “I love you, Con,” Hank said softly. He opened the pair of scissors, dragged it along his skin, and as he closed his eyes, holding Connor close, red blood mixed with blue thirium. For those few last moments of Hank’s life, as purple drops of liquid splattered to the white tile floor, Hank and Connor would be together.

 

_**The end.** _


	7. The Happier Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A happier ending after Connor pulls the thirium pump from his chest.
> 
> tw: suicide, major character death

Connor opened his eyes to see Hank standing over him. “So he’s all fixed up, then?”

“Good as new. There might be a few gaps in his memory, but for the most part, he should function the same way he always did,” the tech told Hank. Connor blinked. He had no idea what was happening.

“How you feelin’, Con?” Hank asked him, reaching out to pat his arm. “Better?”

“I feel fine, Lieutenant Anderson,” he answered. His voice seemed a little colder, a little more robotic than usual. Hank hoped it would fade and that Connor would go back to being Connor soon.

“You ready to go home?” Hank asked him. Connor nodded.

It wasn’t until he was buckled into the passenger seat that Connor opened up about the gaps in his memory. “What happened?”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Hank asked.

“You died,” Connor said. “Or, I thought you died. It’s apparent now that you didn’t,” he explained.

“Sometimes that happens. A person codes out and then comes back. Anyway, I almost died. And you—” Hank paused. “You pulled your thirium pump out, Con. Pretty much died right there in my arms. That’s when I woke up.”

“I’m sorry, Hank,” Connor said. It was starting to make sense now. “It seems I didn’t see a point in continuing to function without you being alive.”

“There’s a lot of reasons for you to keep functioning, Con. With or without me, you understand that?” Hank’s jaw clenched and unclenched and Connor couldn’t tell if he was angry or not.

“I understand,” Connor said. From a logical programming standpoint, he did. From his newfound emotional standpoint, he certainly didn’t.

“You know I would’ve done the same thing?” Hank said finally after a long stretch of silence, before they pulled into Hank’s driveway.  _ Their  _ driveway.

“What do you mean?” Connor asked.

“I mean after I saw you laying there with your thirium pump getting stuff all over me, I almost ended it,” Hank said quietly. “Con, I …” Hank couldn’t seem to say the words, couldn’t seem to put his feelings into a coherent sentence.

Connor looked at him, gave him those puppy-dog eyes that always seemed to work. 

“I love you, Connor.”

“I love you too, Hank,” Connor said. Now, there was no question how they felt. Once again, Connor felt  _ hope _ .

 

_**The end.** _

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to magicbubblepipe for coming up with the idea for this story.


End file.
